


One Step Away

by Laqueus



Category: Amulet (Graphic Novels)
Genre: Congratulations! It's mental illness time!, F/M, Rated T because I was pretty liberal with the word 'damn', Scar Bonding, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 08:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laqueus/pseuds/Laqueus
Summary: Ever since Emily had returned – freshly reformed and freshly scarred, brief words and explanations about the Void dying on her lips - things had only ever been ‘fine’, and the word had transformed into some sort of code of secrecy, a rug for the truth to be swept under. Time and time again she brushed things off as being ‘fine’, when Trellis knew  damn well that under the surface she was just as choked with problems as he was.





	One Step Away

**Author's Note:**

> You know that one vine called [When The Beat Drops](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX7BR4u2WAw) where a guy is dancing around, and smacks paper towels into oblivion and also flips a table? That's me, ignoring Supernova's canon.
> 
> Title is taken from an untitled poem, see the bottom notes for more info.

Trellis had a problem. Then again he had a whole host of problems, most of them knotting and tangling together inside him like a particularly virulent strain of bindweed. In fact, if problems were plants, then Trellis had an entire forest contained within him, a complete ecosystem made up of _stuff that’s gone wrong_ and _stuff that’s ruining my life_ and _stuff I somehow need to fix (but how)_. But that was all standard for him, really. He’d grown up with that metaphorical forest, the majority of the seeds planted there by his father; he’d grown and the forest had grown with him. Old problems continually metamorphosed into new species and forms, or alternatively rotted away, their remains fuelling the problems that in turn replaced them. The forest was merely a constant of his life; it was normal, it was fine, and Trellis knew that both of those were lies, but there simply wasn’t the time or space to sit down and try to mentally correct them.

So really, when placed in that context, the new problem that Trellis now faced seemed almost mundane by comparison, like it’d been transplanted in from another person’s life. A normal person, who attended school, had a part-time job in say, a library, and didn’t have worries such as ‘Will I be able to overthrow my undead father and the puppetmaster controlling him?’, and ‘Will I be able to stabilise my homeland and return it to a time of peace?’, and ‘Will my allies and I be eventually struck down by an eldritch being from beyond the dawn of stars?’

As if that wasn’t enough, the problem had the gall to be an embarrassing, personal sort, one that stuck in the gullet and refused to be shifted, with shame acting as a glue.

Take today, for example. Today the problem had brought Trellis to a particular door, making him stand outside it like a retainer waiting for the signal to enter. He had argued with himself the entire journey there, going back and forth in a taxing mental battle:

_It is ridiculous to do this. - Yes, but, there’s no harm in checking up, is there? - There is when you’re crowding and hovering about her like some ragged vulture! – I am not hovering, I am merely being there for her and acting as support. - Oh, this is all just under the pretence of ‘support’? Yeah right, and the Erlking is just culling everyone because he’s concerned about population numbers. - Listen, a fortnight ago she was a phantasmagorical bird from myth, and now you’re needling away at me because I’m showing concern? – I wouldn’t call what you’re showing ‘concern’. More like lo- - Do **not** finish that word. Look, we’re here now; I am simply going to check on her, and go. – She won’t like it, you prat!_

It’d simultaneously and paradoxically made the walk feel three times as long, and three times as short.

Now at his destination, Trellis stood there with his feet firmly planted, ignoring the urge to rock back and forth on them; it was an irritating, nervous action, exactly the sort that would be stamped out in a professional setting such as court. With a practised motion he raised a hand, paused for a second, blew out a short breath-

\- and tentatively knocked.

Internally, Trellis cursed. There’d been too much of that lately; too much tentativeness, and caution, and uncertainty from others infusing the air around her like a sour smell. And here he was, his treacherous body adding further to it. There came the faintest sound of rustling behind the door, as if its inhabitant was stirring.

“Yeah?” called out a voice.

“May I enter?” Trellis called through the door, a little uncertain at what the answer would be. It wasn’t that she’d turned away people so far, but the unnatural little worry of ‘ _What if_ …’ wriggled away, nipping at his innards.

There was a brief pause featuring more muted rustling. Then-

“Sure. Door’s unlocked.”

A relieved sigh rushed out of Trellis, the remnants of a breath that he didn’t even know he’d been holding. Upon stepping inside he was greeted with the sight of Emily, laying belly-down on her bed; she looked up as he entered, before shifting and taking a moment to prop herself up on her elbows. Internally, the ever-present knot in Trellis’ chest loosened into a tangled series of loops; _she’s here, she’s safe_. He tried not to stare at the curving expanse of her mostly-bare back, instead fixing his eyes upon her face. A serious expression was there, as usual.

“Has something happened?” asked Emily, business as ever. “Has Ikol made a move?”

“No, nothing of the sort, thankfully,” said Trellis. _She’s safe, she’s safe, she’s safe_ kept running through his head like a tiny mantra. He gestured towards her back. “Is your scar bothering you?”

For a moment Emily frowned, her mouth pulling to one side, and tried to shrug. Failing that, she pushed herself up into a sitting position with a heave; bones and muscles moved below the skin, whilst the scar sat atop it, all shifting and stretching together in tandem. Once again Trellis stopped himself from staring, instead concentrating on the bedsheets. They were light blue. With a twinge of embarrassment he remembered the first time he’d come in when she’d been in this particular state of undress; a red-hot shock had jolted through him, and in his hurry to preserve her privacy he’d stared up at the ceiling, had promptly backed into the closed door, rebounded, and had fallen over a table - all whilst apologising profusely. Emily, he recalled, had laughed.

“A little,” said Emily, the sound of her voice snapping him back to the present. “It’s fine,” she added, saying ‘fine’ as if it were an obstacle to be vaulted over.

Trellis knew that if things were truly ‘fine’ then Emily wouldn’t be laying with her back to the ceiling; that she wouldn’t be presently clad in nothing but trousers and a sports bra, with no overshirt to irritate the skin. A hidden note of tiredness lingered around Emily’s face, her usually stoic expression bordering on souring into something sad. Ever since she’d returned – freshly reformed and freshly scarred, brief words and explanations about the Void dying on her lips - things had only ever been ‘fine’, and the word had transformed into some sort of code of secrecy, a rug for the truth to be swept under. Time and time again she brushed things off as being ‘fine’, when Trellis damn well knew that under the surface she was just as choked with problems as he was. Her stoic self-reliance was a part of who she was, but now, in all honesty, it broke his heart.

His damnable, damnable heart, which had suddenly decided to gain a _very specific_ set of feelings.

That, right there, was the crux of the new problem. Before everything – before Algos Island, before the Void, before Emily’s disappearance and subsequent reappearance, carrying Ikol’s true name with her like a curse – there had been something new between them, a formless thing that didn’t quite have a shape or name. It was almost like a gossamer thread strung between the two of them, and it linked them together in a tenuous way. Whatever this new connection was, it was something that’d they’d barely begun to acknowledge, as it manifested itself in the smallest and subtlest of ways: the touch of a hand, the slow beat of a held gaze, a cadence in the voice when speaking the other’s name, a strange feeling within the stomach as if one was about to be sick from excitement.

Then Emily had disappeared, enveloped in a great gout of flame, and deep within him, Trellis had felt something wild and desperate roar into life. It was a tiger scrabbling at her cage as her cubs were taken away; it was forest fire blazing to life and consuming all within its path; it was the madness of losing someone and realising all too late that your feelings for them were deeper than first realised.

Trellis’ memory had never been all that good to begin with, years of Gabilan’s work leaving it riddled with holes like a moth-eaten rug, but even now, Trellis had little recollection of the months that’d followed the phoenix’s birth. It’d all passed by in a stressful blur of desperation and heartache and pushing himself to a limit he’d never known before; anything for Emily to be safely returned to them all once more.

In the end, the day had been saved by Karen and Navin. Out of everyone, they were the ones who finally coaxed Emily from that flaming form, drawing her out with empathy and love as Vigo and Trellis kept her struggling form pinned down with magic. It was the gentlest sort of barrage, kindness and understanding weaponised, and eventually the bird was extinguished thanks to it. There had been a great deal of hugging all around, as if everyone wanted to make certain that Emily was well and truly there, and not merely some phantasm. Trellis had been no exception, hugging her with such unintentionally unrestrained force that she’d squawked and slapped him away due to her injuries.

But within that brief, hysterical moment there lay a safely contained secret, one that Trellis kept firmly locked away. In those intense seconds of holding her in his arms, he’d wanted to kiss her; to pour every ounce of his maelstrom of feelings into her; to tell her just how badly it’d frightened him when she was gone and he could do nothing to help; to communicate the sheer, deep-seated relief he’d felt upon her return; to make her know just how special and valued and loved she was by everyone and to let her know how much she meant to him.

He hadn’t, of course. After everything that’d happened – everything she’d been through – he couldn’t rudely force himself or his feelings upon her in such an Erlking-forsaken manner. Truth be told, the urge had frightened him too; such feelings were new, and very, very alien, feeling out of sync with the rhythm and cadence of his life. Instead he’d bitten it back, pushed it down, where it quietly stewed and manifested itself in the only way it could; Trellis had found himself filled with the urge to keep Emily safe, an anxious niggling itch that made him continually want to check up on her, as if she would suddenly dematerialise off into the Void again. It was ridiculous, it was annoying, and to Trellis’ slow, sinking horror, it was accompanied by the realisation that whoops, he was in love.

That entire tangled thicket, layers upon layers of plant life and foliage, was _the problem_.

Which lead Trellis to the present moment, standing in her room, filled with an anxiety-tinged sense of relief that _she was still there_ and that _she was safe_.

“So what is it?” The sound of Emily’s voice snapped Trellis back to attention.

He was silent for a moment, as he considered his answer. He hadn’t really had a proper excuse for visiting her, other than the need to _check_ (damn him), something that Emily would no doubt find supremely patronising. He should leave, but a small part of him didn’t really want to, because doing so would mean starting the checking cycle anew. She was the fisherman, and he was the fish that’d bitten deeply upon her hook, with no desire to let go.

But…

He exhaled a long, slow breath through his nose, and let a version of the truth rise to his lips. “Nothing. Merely checking in on you.” Feeling uncomfortable, and with a quick, curt nod, Trellis turned to leave. And so it would all begin again… “I’ll leave you be.”

“Wait.” Emily’s voice rang out behind him.

“Yes?” He turned back, curious.

From her perch on the bed, Emily paused, chewing on the inside of one cheek, eyes sweeping around in thought. Finally, and with an almost embarrassed manner, she looked at him.

“Look, I know this is weird, and you don’t have to, but,” she stopped. Sighed. Resumed with air of one asking something they knew was inappropriate. “Can I see your scars? The ones- the ones from when your armour broke?” She patted her abdomen, indicating and illustrating which she meant.

For a split second Trellis froze, the request hitting his brain like a ten-tonne block of ice; he felt his face go slack in surprise.

“The ones from when we fell with Vigo? The airship ones?” he asked, uncertainty laced through his voice.

Immediately Emily was shifting forwards and speaking, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. “Look, no, sorry, you don’t have to. It was a stupid request, I shouldn’t have ask-“

“There’s no harm in it,” blurted out Trellis, without any sort of thought and sounding much more neutral than he felt. “Give me a moment.”

Before he could immediately backpedal in either a verbal or physical fashion, Trellis crossed the room, his mind merrily jabbering away to itself in a little panic: _Why did I say yes? Why I did I say yes?? Are my hands trembling? Why would they be trembling? Stars, why do I feel so nervous about this, she merely wants to see my scars. Scars that happen to be on my torso. Is there an ulterior motive here? No, of course there isn’t, don’t be ridiculous. But what if there is? Aaaaaaaaa-_

Moving like one in a dream, Trellis slipped off his surcoat, folded it, and placed it upon the floor. He sat, causing the bed to dip and creak, painfully aware of Emily’s eyes following his every movement. Next followed his tunic, peeled off in a long strip of a motion; that too, was neatly folded and placed upon the surcoat. Finally, off came the boots, and with that done, he swung around to face Emily, fully seating himself upon the bed. There was a decidedly unusual air in the room, and Trellis could have sworn that it suddenly felt much, much more enclosed. Emily looked somewhat abashed.

“I, er, thought you’d just lift your shirt or something,” she muttered, eyes pointedly off to one side.

“Oh. Well, I, erm, I suppose we match now,” said Trellis, and internally he screamed. Why had he tried to make _a joke_?

Emily snorted, eyes flicking back to him. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

A small silence stretched out. Emily began to study Trellis with some intent; her gaze was one that could’ve bored through diamond.

“I think these are the ones you’re looking for,” said Trellis distractedly, pointing at a set of scars. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the correct set, or even where he was pointing for that matter; the only thing he was certain of in that moment was that Emily’s scent was filling his nose, making him feel a tad light-headed.

“No. It was these ones, I’m certain of it.” Without warning, Emily took his hand between her own, guiding it lower down to his abdomen. “Here, too.” She pointed to a long scar upon his forearm, the tip of her finger just brushing against it, putting Trellis in mind of the faint flutter of a butterfly’s wing. His heart thundered away in his chest, almost trying to break out through his ribcage through sheer brute force alone. Silence reigned, as Emily continued to study the myriad of scars that covered his torso.

Finally, she spoke.

“Do you ever feel self-conscious about them?” She spoke quickly, her tone trying to sound as though it was business as usual, but failing to entirely hide the mote of sadness concealed beneath.

Ah. Understanding dropped onto Trellis like a stooping buzzard.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Though it’s something you eventually learn to live with. And this one-“ he tapped at the scar on his face, “-is a part of who I am at this point.” There was a pause as he considered his next words. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

Trellis had meant it as more of a statement than a question, but Emily answered as though it were the latter.

“I dunno. I guess- I guess in a way it is. But it shouldn’t! It was my own damn stupidity that earned me this, and I know I should be feeling better and there’s no reason for me to feel this way about it, but…” She turned away from him, pulling her knees up to her chin, leaving both back and scar on full display. “It feels like I’m branded.”

At those words, Trellis felt his heart break a little. A faint memory flickered to life in his mind, tiffany-thin and fraying at the edges. A memory of a young boy, huddled in a darkened corner and crying because everyone had been staring at his face, while an amorphous wraith twined around him…

He shook himself, the memory fading back into the past.

“It’s understandable that you’d feel like that,” said Trellis. “Truth be told, I felt the same way after… well, after my father and I had our ‘disagreement.’” He twisted a fistful of duvet in his hand, watching the way the material creased. “But you must know that no one blames you for what happened. Yes, you made some questionable choices, but Ikol was the one goading you into them.” Emily continued to be silent. “Look, think of it like so: do you hold what I did against you and yours whilst under Sybrian’s control?”

“Not anymore,” said Emily, resting her head upon her knees and making her voice slightly muffled. “But that trust was something that took time to be built and fixed, Trellis. Anyway, you weren’t acting like your true self.”

“Precisely. We both had a certain amount of responsibility for our actions, but it’s easy to overstate the importance of them and over-blame ourselves when really the main portion of the fault lies with others.” He released the duvet, idly smoothing it out. “I wish I could say that there’s some magic cure for getting over scars and not feeling the way you do, but there isn’t one. Like you say, the only thing we have is time.”

Another silence lingered in the air.

“I suppose you have a point,” Emily finally answered. “But it just _sucks._ ” She sighed again.

“True,” said Trellis. “It does ‘suck’.”

“ _Live with something long enough, and it’ll almost become a friend_. Leon told me that once, though I can’t remember what it was in conjunction with. Maybe it was about knowing your flaws well enough to overcome them? Something like that, at any rate.” Emily ran a hand back and forth along the bed as she spoke, wrinkling the duvet one way, smoothing it the other.

“You know, I’m fairly certain Luger once said something similar to me,” said Trellis, gently. He idly watched her as she moved, the action almost hypnotic.

Emily huffed out a sound that almost approached being a laugh. “Maybe they both shop at a particular store for mentor-ly sayings. _Mentors ‘R’ Us_ , or something.”

“I’m certain such a store is at the top of their shopping lists.” Trellis smiled at the old spark returning to Emily’s voice.

That prompted a proper laugh from Emily, the sound tumbling out of her mouth as her shoulders shuddered. It petered out all too soon, but Trellis couldn’t help but notice that there was a certain lightness present once more in both her body and voice.

“Thanks for this. It’s not really the sort of thing I could talk about with anyone else, y’know?” she admitted, looking off at some distant point.

“Of course.” Trellis’ gaze travelled downwards, along the short waves of reddish-pink hair. From there it dropped further, down to Emily’s upper back and the scar that sat there. It spread across her trapezius in a great starburst, like a star going supernova; mottled flesh in shades of pink and yellow mimicking the death of something seemingly eternal.

“What does it feel like?” The words slipped out of Trellis’ mouth before his brain got a chance to properly review and approve them – an approval which it most certainly would not have given.

“It feels, I dunno. Weird,” said Emily, taking no offence. “Like it hurts, but it’s a hurt from another dimension, so here it just feels tingly in an unsettling way. It’s weird,” she added again.

Trellis was silent, the words _Void-touched_ running through his head like the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. On instinct he half-raised a hand as if to touch, then thought better of it; stars above, was he raised in the wilds? How would he like it if someone went ahead and blithely touched his facial scar? _You’d permit it if it was Emily,_ ran through his mind, and embarrassing little truth. Erlkings past, to have her hands upon his face in such a way; he could almost feel it: her palms pressed to his cheeks, fingers reaching around to just about brush the edges of his ears, the slow trace of her thumb down the rough ridge of skin…

With a start, Trellis realised that Emily was watching him, her body half-turned with one eye peeking out from the side of her face. He jumped, his face immediately flaming, as he yanked his gaze to the bedsheets.

“There- there’s a word for such injuries. A-among my people,” he stammered. “Void-touched, they call it.”

Trellis risked a glance at Emily’s face. Instead of the expected anger or annoyance, a curious emotion was caught there; it was something that he could only guess at appearing to be a mixture of consideration and want.

“Void-touched,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes drifting upwards. There was something her tone which made it seem as if she were merely echoing the words automatically, whilst her mind cogitated on something else.

“Yes. It’s a somewhat archaic phrase, owing to present circumstances,” said Trellis. It went without saying between them that _present circumstances_ was related to him, and had been sitting on the throne for fifty years, quietly decaying all the while.

Emily’s gaze returned to Trellis, her eye trailing down his face and following the line of his scar. In the back of his mind, the little fantasy played out over and over again…

“You can touch it if you want.” Emily shrugged, a quick twitch of the shoulders. “Like I said, it doesn’t hurt. Not in the proper way.”

She turned to face forwards once more, one-handedly gathering and sweeping her hair over a shoulder to better expose the star. For a second Trellis halted, his own internalised boundaries holding him back. Then he tentatively raised his hand, and pressed his palm against the maculated skin. Emily hissed, a sharp breath escaping through her teeth, and Trellis jerked his hand away.

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine,” assured Emily. “It’s just like when you’ve got pins and needles and you press on the affected area. It’s peculiar, not painful.”

At that, Trellis raised an eyebrow. Nonetheless, he carefully replaced his hand upon her back, fingers slowly spreading outwards in a semi-starburst of their own. A small shiver coursed through Emily, and Trellis felt his heart stutter. The area felt lumpy and ridged, small mounds pressing against the pads of his fingers, but most of all it felt warm. Not impossibly warm like a fire, more like the heat of a fever. He traced along the edge with a finger - scar meeting healthy skin - exhaling a long breath as he did. Emily’s own breathing gave a little hitch, her body relaxing under his palm.

“I don’t think normal burn scars are like this,” she said in a small, quiet voice.

“No,” Trellis agreed, his own voice equally soft.

For a moment he caught himself wondering: what must this look like to an outsider? Both of them shirtless and seated upon a bed, one of them flecked with scars and carefully trailing a hand upon the other’s scarred back. He felt his face heat up once again. With a small cough, he removed his hand, searching for something to say.

“It’s unusual,” was what eventually came out. _Way to state the obvious, Trellis._

The bed creaked, sheets rustling as Emily shifted and turned around to face him. A blush spread across her face in a long line, trailing from one cheek to another, crossing up and over the bridge of her nose on its journey. He watched as her eyes trailed up across his own form, travelling and alighting from scar to scar, before finally reaching the one on his face. The oldest one. The one that felt like the instigator of all others. Emily studied it, brows creasing together, head tilting slightly to one side, words upon the tip of her tongue being held back due to politeness.

“You can touch it, if you wish,” said Trellis, guessing her request.

Emily nodded. She brought up a hand, sliding her fingers along the edge of his jaw until they met the rim of his ear; internally Trellis felt like he was dying in the most exquisite way. _Lay your hands on me,_ he wanted to say, the words desiring to burst from him with such vigour, not caring about the desperation present in them. _Lay your hands on me, and I will follow wherever you wish._ Just as he’d imagined, she ran her thumb along his scar, tracing the line that his father had cut into him years before. It was a feather-soft touch, so unlike the image he knew of her; a girl who’d struck down foes, whose hands could both wound and wield. Trellis resisted the urge to place one of his hands over hers, his nails digging into the duvet from the effort, grounding himself there. Emily’s eyes tracked across his face - up and down, up and down – then met Trellis’ own gaze.

She nodded to herself and withdrew her hand; to Trellis its absence was more noticeable than anything else he’d suffered. From there, Emily’s eyes flicked down to his torso; her gaze lingered for a moment, then she started, and with a resurging blush quickly looked back at his face.

“Do you remember how you got every scar?” she asked.

Trellis shook his head. “No, not really. There are some I do remember, but most of them are lost to me.” He felt vaguely aware that they’d drifted into some strange new territory, where hidden meanings lay atop their words like an invisible second skin. He glanced down at his forearms, a small multitude of scars webbing across them; traced a finger along the same one she’d outlined earlier. “The soldiers always used to use them as a form of bonding. Proof of survival, proof of being tougher than whatever the world threw at you, an opportunity to brag. Even if I could remember, I don’t think I’d want to. Not in the way they did, at least. I suppose I’d have to remember though…” Trellis’ voice trailed off.

“Because it’s your duty to remember. So you make sure that whatever it was, it doesn’t happen again.” Emily‘s voice was soft, understanding. She inched closer.

“Yes,” breathed Trellis.

The room had shrunk further, the air was unusually warm despite Trellis’ lack of a shirt. A group of Kannalians riding a flock of wild stormbirds could have flown through, and Trellis wouldn’t have noticed; all he could focus on was Emily’s face, and those brown eyes of hers. She in turn was staring at him, eyes ticking from feature to feature, her expression filled with a longing that made Trellis’ heart ache.

 _You’re still here. You’re still here and you’re safe, and I don’t need to check right now._ The words rang in his head, a steady prayer.

“What? Check? Check what?” murmured Emily, her brows creasing ever so slightly.

It took a second for the words and their proper meaning to hit Trellis’ brain, having to fight through a hazy, lovesick fug; when they did make impact, it was like being struck with a hammer. Panic shot through him, his eyes growing wide, and brows shooting up. Alarmed, he pulled back. Oh hell, had he spoken aloud?

“Seriously, Trellis, what was that?” Emily continued. She leaned forwards to make up the distance he’d made between them, and on instinct, Trellis turned his face away.

An unnatural panic was thrumming through him; whereas in the previous moment he would have given anything to stay in the confines of Emily’s room, now all Trellis wanted to do was to be somewhere - _anywhere!_ – else. Lie. He should lie, and bury the messy truth under acres and acres of leaf litter. He wasn’t a habitual liar, his father being the sole exception, but this was something that couldn’t be, _shouldn’t_ be exposed. If he lied, then it could stay safe, it could stay hidden, and no one would have to know his embarrassing secret. And yet…

Emily had been truthful with him, revealing her own feelings regarding her scar, and that little fact was enough to tarnish the lustre of lying. What sort of person would he be to not afford her the same level of trust that she’d placed in him? The trust they had in one another was a solid, heavily-built thing, one that’d had a great deal of time put into its construction. He sighed heavily, a sound that contained the very weight of the cosmos within it, and slowly faced her fully once more.

“Trellis? What is it?” Emily’s voice was half-concern, half curiosity.

“Emily, you know that,” Trellis began, then stopped. The words didn’t want to come, a little series of barbs hooking into his throat. He tried again, slipping into formality as though it were a shield. “Emily, ever since you returned to us, I- I’ve had this _compulsion_ , for lack of a better term. I feel as if I must continually make sure that you’re really here, as if you’re some sort of cloud that is seconds away from dissipating into nothingness.” He watched her face carefully as he spoke, expecting to see some form of annoyance or revulsion appear. Instead there was nothing of the sort, only a sad sort of understanding, and it cracked his chest open. “I know it is a baseless fear, and that I am only being ridiculous, but losing you frightened me in a way that few things have done before,” he quietly finished.

There. The truth was out, hanging in the air between them like a bird on a string. A strange sense of relief flowed through Trellis at having said it, but it was the sort that left him feeling as though he’d been scoured inside and out.

“Oh. Oh, Trellis,” said Emily softly.

Carefully, carefully, like she was handling a wild animal, she took Trellis’ hand between hers. He let her, any resistance within him was dead and buried; there was a strange sensation of relief sitting in him. She raised it to her chest, placing it on the hard plane of her sternum, laying one of her own hands atop it.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” she said, and in that moment Trellis knew that she meant it. There was an iron core of strength running through those words, fortifying and supporting. “I suppose we’re both having a rough go of it right now.”

He nodded, mutely. “I suppose we are.” His voice was oddly hoarse.

And then, like some tiny miracle, an idea dawned on Trellis. It uncurled slowly, like a blooming fern in a patch of sunlight, spreading its fronds to the fullest. It almost felt like the antithesis of the forest within him, something new and fresh. A solution, instead of a problem.

“Emily, stop me if this seems outlandish, but how about we make a vow?” said Trellis. Under his palm, Emily’s heart steadily thumped away, a reassuring rhythm.

“About what?” asked Emily, tilting her head to one side. She ran her thumb across the back of his hand, an unconscious little gesture that he knew would stay in his memory for years to come.

“If I promise to curb my ‘checking’ habit, will you promise to tell me when your scar is bothering you, and not suffer in silence?” With the same amount of care and gentility that Emily had shown, Trellis took her free hand, holding it loosely within his own. It was an action that felt horrendously forward, despite the fact that they were both sitting there half-naked, and him with his hand upon her chest, to boot.

Emily’s gaze tracked down along her arm to his hand, a dusty blush spreading on her face once more.

“Sounds reasonable,” she said, and embarrassed little wobble in her voice. She always did try to be so stoic.

At those words, Trellis pulled her hand to his own chest, and laid it there, safely nestled under his own. _Safe, safe safe…._

“Then I promise,” he said.

“I promise too.” She smiled, and it was such a soft, open expression, a shaft of sunlight in the gloom.

Trellis felt a slow smile spread across his face, mirroring Emily’s. It was a wonderful moment of openness between them; both had closed themselves off to the world in one way or another, but right here, right now, that didn’t matter. They had opened up their armour, peeling back rough, rusted metal in order to show the scars beneath, and each had _understood_.

In that moment, the warmth of her palm atop one hand, and below the other, Trellis realised that there were more ways of letting someone know you loved them than words alone.

He opened his mouth to speak-

The door banged open, causing both of them to leap.

“Emily? You here?” bellowed Cogsley, striding into the room with Dagno scuttling after him.

It was an impressive stride for a robot, the sort that could’ve happily carried him for mile after mile, but instead it petered out, Cogsley trundling to a halt as he clapped eyes upon the room’s two occupants. Even though he was a robot, and lacking the fully-fluid face of the biological, the expression Cogsley’s face somehow managed to be indescribable. His eyes ticked back and forth between Emily and Trellis, their hands still on one another’s chests, his mouth opening and closing. Trellis felt his own face burning, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Emily’s entire face had gone a similar shade to that of her hair.

“We can explain,” said a mortified Emily, whilst at the same time an equally afflicted Trellis said: “There’s an explanation.”

So what actually came out was:

“Wtherecapl _explaination_.”

This did nothing to alleviate the expression on Cogsley’s face. His eyebrows shunted down in a show of displeasure. Dagno meanwhile, chose to play around his mama’s feet.

“Kids,” Cogsley grumbled to himself, loudly enough to hear. “Look, I don’t know – _nor do I care_ – whatever it is that you’re-“ he gestured sharply with both hands, “- _doing_ here. We’ve had activity crop up on the monitor, and now everyone’s gathering in the main hall to make plans. So finish whatever this-“ this was punctuated by another vigorous gesture, “-is, and get down there.”

He slammed the door behind him, Dagno chittering and chirping delightedly as they left; through the wall, Emily and Trellis could hear a faint stream of grumbling that headed down the hall and steadily faded into nothing.

Like a pair of robotic dolls, their head swivelled to face one another.

“Do you think he’s going to say something?” said Emily, the words falling from her mouth like stones.

“I don’t think so?” was Trellis’ uncertain reply.

Over the following few minutes they dressed quickly and silently, both lost in their own thoughts. Just as Trellis was about to reach for the door handle, Emily grabbed his hand instead. She gripped it tightly, and gave it a squeeze, with no intention of letting go.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ve got a promise to keep.”

Trellis squeezed back in return, a determined expression upon his face.

Together they left the bedroom behind, heading for the place that their friends and family were.

**Author's Note:**

> Woo! I managed to get this done! I As mentioned in the notes above (and because I fear the link I've got will expire), here’s the full poem:
> 
> “you stay there  
> one step away from my courage  
> to touch you once again  
> you stay there  
> hidden between my favorite metaphors  
> i could never spill on paper”  
> -k.m.


End file.
